


Torn Apart

by aruarudayo



Series: Seen This Before [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, PTSD, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Panic Attacks, Post Traumatic Stress, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2173767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aruarudayo/pseuds/aruarudayo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Controllable Helplessness</p>
<p>During a panic attack, Dave admits to John that he was actually capable of reaching doomed!John in time. However, because he was told not to alter the timeline, he couldn't stop him from getting killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torn Apart

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from paual@dreamwidth

Davesprite isn’t invincible, no matter how much he wishes he was. 

The injuries he can handle without issue. That’s an occupational hazard. 

What he can’t handle is himself. 

Thoughts, memories, feelings—those don’t make sense and are completely out of his control. They’re supposed to belong to him, so they should be understandable, malleable, controllable. But they’re not; they simply serve as a point of confusion, a certain brand of helplessness that he cannot shake off.

They’re also painfully spontaneous.

One moment, he’s talking with John when he remembers those long months by himself. Sure, Rose was with him, but her company was fleeting at best with all the time traveling. The time jumping was exhilarating in all the wrong ways; a constant fear clawed at him, fear that he could screw up, that he _would_ screw up, that Rose could die and oh god, what if he died? He couldn’t make things right, couldn’t stop it, couldn’t—

As his train of thought descends into incoherency, his breath speeds up until he’s gasping, fighting for air, and his head clears momentarily only to be submerged under the fact that _he is going to die._

 

John expects Davesprite to be strong. The Dave that came across the timeline to prototype himself survived for several months in a hostile environment, and the sprite version went up against Jack and lived. Upon first meeting him, that expectation is solidified in how tall he stands despite the missing wing and bleeding torso, in how calm he looks even after all that’s happened. 

It takes about a month for that image to shatter. 

Neither of them knows what sets it off, but Davesprite freezes mid-sentence then picks back up with a different tone, a different topic, and a different frame of mind. 

It takes a moment for John to realize that Davesprite isn’t with him anymore; he’s time traveling, but only in spirit and only to the bad things, the things he never talks about except for in times like these. 

John carefully gathers him, wings and all, into his arms and tries so very hard to fight the panic and fear in both of them.

 

There were so many things he could have done. So many ways to stop the doomed timeline, to save Rose, to save Jade, to save John—but there was no way around it. 

Terezi said it had to happen this way, before she lost contact with the timeline. 

Even though he made it in time.

Even though he knew what to do.

Even though he knew what would happen.

He let John die.

 

“You what?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry—I let John die. I let my best friend in the whole world go to his death without lifting a finger. John is—it’s all—it’s all my fault! I should have done something, should have stopped him from doing something stupid like take on a monster with baby tools, should have tried harder, should have…oh my god, I—I—”

Davesprite is in hysterics, doesn’t even realize who he’s talking to, and it’s all John can do to keep him from hurting himself. 

John is close to hyperventilating himself, but he channels that energy into running his hands through Davesprite’s hair, his feathers, his skin, anything to remind him they’re here, in the present. He isn’t his John, never was and never will be, but he’s still his friend, someone who loves him and wants him to be safe and sound. 

“I don’t care; you did what you had to,” he mutters. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m safe. We’ll get through this. I’m here now and that’s what matters.”

 

There’s a certain terror to watching your best friend die. There’s a different terror to watching your best friend die even though you could have saved him. 

In the first instance, there’s the fear that comes with realizing your friend is gone. He won’t be there for you anymore and that sort of loss is mind numbing and petrifying. 

In the second though, all that is compounded by the lead feeling in your legs, the feeling that there are shackles around your ankles and wrists, chaining you down and tearing you apart as you want to run and help him but you can’t. You won’t. 

Davesprite remembers being torn apart. He remembers all too well as pieces of his being were taken away until all he’s left with is an empty feeling he can’t get rid of. He tries to fill the void with violence and distractions, but nothing will do.

Through the emptiness though, he can hear John’s voice and he knows there’s something off. 

Coming back is like trekking through molasses. He struggles to break the illusion, hacks through the memories, and surfaces from the abyss in John’s arms.

“…Is it really okay?” he whimpers.

John nods, and Davesprite’s frantic breaths turn into sobs, broken apologies making their way through the tears. 

 

John doesn’t expect the nightmares to stop, for any of them. He doesn’t have a way to really assure Davesprite that everything is okay because everything _isn’t_ okay or else Davesprite wouldn’t exist. But he knows that Davesprite is strong, keeps telling him so, and that strength will triumph. 

He just doesn’t know when.


End file.
